One Shots: Jurassic Fever
by loubug14
Summary: This is a series of one-shots written for The Golden Snitch's Jurassic Fever Challenge. RL/NT, HG/VK, HG/FG, and HP/DM, but the majority are non-romantic. Quick, fun reads!
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This series of one-shots were written for the Golden Snitch Jurassic Fever Challenge, on behalf of House Mizu (Mahoutokoro). Challenge prompts will be included at the top of each story._

 _Tyrannosaurus Rex: Write about a Death Eater (or 'dark' character) who is in need of affection.  
_ _Egg Prompt: (quote) "She's such a troglodyte."  
Points: 15_

* * *

"She's such a troglodyte."

Alecto Carrow sneered at the two Gryffindors across the potions table, who were giggling softly and avoiding eye contact with her. She didn't know what a troglodyte was, but she knew that stupid Enid Prescott was a Mudblood. As if any stupid Muggle term could be worse than that.

She turned to her brother. "I'll bottle the potion for Slughorn. You can clean up this filthy"—she looked meaningfully across the table—"table." He nodded absently, his eyes raking over the beautiful Mirabella Zabini across the aisle.

Alecto decanted the potion and sneered at her table partners as she ambled past them on her way to Slughorn's desk. He glanced at her as she dropped off the potion, but his gaze slid right past her to focus on the table of his favorite students, who were putting away their materials: Severus Snape, Damocles Belby, Lily Evans, and Mary McDonald. He didn't give any indication of her presence as Alecto dropped the potion on his desk.

She heaved her bag more firmly onto her broad shoulder and plodded out of the classroom and toward the dungeons, having decided to skip lunch today. She dropped her bag next to one of the group study desks—sitting alone, _again_ —and pulled out her Charms homework.

Fourth year was shaping up to be the absolute worst. She didn't fit in with the girls in her dorm—girls like Mirabella who were all long lines and classic beauty and shiny hair and dainty ankles crossed like a proper lady. Boys, including her brother, were falling over Mirabella and Narcissa Black and Belina Burke. In the dorm room they giggled over Hogsmeade invitations and traded beauty tips and admired each other's expensive silk robes.

No one had ever asked Alecto to Hogsmeade.

Alecto knew she wasn't particularly pretty. She hoped she'd grow over the summer, slimming down and shooting up as her roommates had, but puberty had other plans. While her brother grew tall and lanky, she grew wide: broad shoulders and big hips. She stayed short and squat, more like a goblin than the other willowy witches of her House.

She conjured a small doll and set it across the table, against the stone wall of the common room.

Even her twin brother, with whom she'd been joined at the him since birth, had abandoned her for other friends. Avery, Travers—he was even running around with the half-blood Snape!

Sometimes, desperate to belong, she was able to tag along with them, hexing Hufflepuffs in the hallways and making sure Mudbloods knew their place—but it was always as an extension of Amycus. He'd recently become more huffy about her desire to spend time with him, muttering that she needed more witch friends so she'd stay out of his hair.

She stood, shook her head, and walked a few steps away from the table.

" _Accio_ doll!"

The doll didn't move.

" _Accio_ doll!"

Nothing.

Alecto huffed. She couldn't even get this right—not that it was any different from any of her other classes. She knew she wasn't terribly smart, but she was a pure-blood. She couldn't let others, like that stupid Mudblood Lily Evans who had done this charm perfectly _the first time she tried it_ , think they were better than her.

It was bad enough she was at the bottom of her class in Potions and Transfiguration. At least she was holding her own in Defense, though the instructor, like the rest of her professors, didn't seem to even notice her. She was resolved to do better in Charms, even if Flitwick was a stupid half-breed. She couldn't let the Mudbloods show her up.

" _Accio_ doll!"

Still nothing.

"Argh! _Diffindo! Diffindo! Diffindo!_ "

Alecto's perfect severing charms chopped of the doll's appendages neatly: its arms and head tumbled to the table, and the remainder of the body slumped against the wall. Alecto narrowed her eyes at the pile of body parts, wondering if summoning them would be easier in pieces.

Then she heard a slow clap from behind her.

She turned and saw the sixth year Prefect and Prince of Slytherin, Lucius Malfoy, all long blond hair and icy blue eyes and expensive robes, looking at _her_. She looked around. Gifford Goyle was standing slightly behind Lucius; Gifford was the size of a troll with the face of one to match, and was well-known to do the dirty work that, as a Prefect, Lucius could not. Other than the three of them, the common room was empty.

"That was impressive wand work," he drawled. "Not many fourth years use the severing charm for dismemberment. Most are focused on shortening their skirts."

Once Alecto realized she was expected to respond, she bumbled out, "The doll pissed me off."

He cocked his head and studied her as if he'd never seen her before. "You have good aim. Your slices were very accurate for such a small target. Do you think you could hit a moving target with similar success?"

"Maybe." Had Lucius Malfoy just complimented her? Had he ever spoken to her before? She wasn't even sure he'd spoken to her brother.

"I'd be interested to see if you could. I know someone who might be interested in a witch with your particular talents." Lucius looked long at her. "He's very interested in pure-bloods from good families who can develop skills that Hogwarts professors might frown upon."

He walked over and picked up the severed head of the doll, rolling it around between his thumb and forefinger. "Think about it. If you're interested, you could join some of the students from your year who are planning on visiting Malfoy Manor this summer. For… academic development." He squished the doll head, then flicked it across the room into the fireplace and left the room, Gifford trailing behind him.

Alecto stood alone in the common room. 'My particular talents,' she thought. A cruel smile rose to her cheeks, and she conjured another doll for the table. She'd never considered that chopping a doll into bits might be a talent, but if Lucius wanted to see more of it she would give it to him.

And if the new doll, charmed to slowly walk the length of the table and back, resembled that stupid Enid Prescott, well, Alecto considered just considered it extra motivation.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: This series of one-shots were written for the Golden Snitch Jurassic Fever Challenge, on behalf of House Mizu (Mahoutokoro). Challenge prompts will be included at the top of each story._

 _Stegosaurus: Write about a canonically beautiful character who is perfectly capable of protecting themselves from danger.  
_ _Egg Prompt: (word) sprint  
Points: 15_

* * *

She knew she had a reputation. Just because she preferred Divination to Ancient Runes and practicing beauty charms rather than studying in the library, everyone assumed she was some vapid airhead. And maybe she didn't flaunt her skills as a witch like swotty Hermione Granger, but that didn't mean she didn't have any.

So when the Golden Trio entered the Room of Requirement and said Voldemort was coming for Hogwarts, Lavender Brown took an assignment along with the rest of the of-age students. She hugged Parvati close. "I'll see you after," she promised. "Stay safe."

She wasn't embarrassed to admit the presence of Professor Lupin and his Auror wife made her feel more comfortable on the covered parapet walk were they'd been stationed. She would have been a lot more nervous had she been stationed alone. But they sent her to the western-most end of the turret, away from the front gate, and told her to hold the line.

"We'll fend them off as best we can," the Auror said. "If any get past us, don't hold back."

And she didn't. Lavender had always been quick with an _Immobulus_ —she'd become quite the expert after one too many dates with hands-y Cormac McLaggen fourth year. She threw defensive charm after defensive charm as her blond curls flew around her. When the onslaught allowed, she sent an _Incarcerous_ to the growing pile of unconscious Death Eaters in a tiny turret nearby. She didn't want to risk any of her prisoners waking up and getting away.

"Remus!"

She looked up and watched as the Auror ran toward the former professor, who was laying on the ground in front of a large man in a silver Death Eater mask. She watched as a wild-haired witch laughed maniacally and shot a curse at the Auror, who collapsed at the green light. The Death Eaters looked up—right at her. The masked one lumbered forward as the mad woman cackled behind him.

" _Expelliarmus! Stupefy! Stupefy! Immobulus! Stupefy!_ " Lavender threw spell after spell at the Death Eater, who deflected them all. She sent two a strong stinging hexes right at his knees, and he dropped to the ground.

"Distracted by the pretty blood traitor, Antonin?" the witched cackled as she danced toward her comrade. The man grunted and stood, deflecting the spells Lavender continued to send toward him. The wild-haired witch sent a half-assed _Avada_ toward Lavender. She side-stepped it with ease, but her eyes went wide at the green light.

Lavender turned and broke into a sprint, throwing up a shield charm in her wake. She was no fool: two-on-one odds weren't great, and she'd need reinforcements to successfully hold the parapet. If she could just make it back to the Great Hall, she could regroup. She could get someone to help her re-take the tower. She was a strong witch, but she also knew when she was in too deep. Discretion was the better part of valor, or so said that writer from Muggle Studies she'd had to read last year.

She had almost reached the corner tower stairway—just to her right was the balcony overlooking the courtyard—when she spotted another Auror she didn't recognize. She breathed a sigh of relief just as she heard " _Bombarda!"_ behind her. The explosion cut through her shield charm and sent her tumbling toward—and then over—the balcony.

" _Molliare!_ " she shouted at the ground below her. Cushioning charms were a lifesaver: both metaphorically, when she wore those four-inch heels to the Yule Ball, and now literally. She landed with a soft 'thud', the Auror smashing next to her much more forcefully.

She would be fine. She would be fine. Just get up, throw up a shield charm, and get to the Great Hall.

She opened her eyes.

 _Harry, Ron, and Hermione sped down the marble staircase: Glass shattered to their left, and the Slytherin hourglass that had recorded House points spilled its emerald everywhere, so that people slipped and staggered as they ran. Two bodies fell from the balcony overhead as they reached the ground, and a gray blur that Harry took for an animal sped four-legged across the hall to sink its teeth into one of the fallen._

 _"NO!" Shriek Hermione, and with a deafening blast form her wand, Fenrir Greyback was thrown backward from the feebly stirring body of Lavender Brown. (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Chapter 32)_

* * *

 _A/N: Poor Lavender. She's a straw man for Hermione's conflict with Ron 6th year. I wanted a chance to reclaim her as both a pretty girl who likes girly things, and a badass in her own right. The last two paragraphs are directly out of_ Deathly Hallows _._


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: This series of one-shots were written for the Golden Snitch Jurassic Fever Challenge, on behalf of House Mizu (Mahoutokoro). Challenge prompts will be included at the top of each story._

 _Iguanodon: Write about a Hufflepuff, or a character who should have belonged to Hufflepuff.  
_ _Egg Prompt: (character) Charlie Weasley  
Points: 15_

* * *

"Wotcher!"

A tiny little girl stuck her head in the compartment where Bill and Charlie Weasley had settled.

"Room for one more?"

Charlie smiled. "Sure!"

The girls stumbled as she dragged her trunk in; Charlie hopped up and helped her store it. She beamed at him. "I'm Tonks."

"Tonks?"

"Yeah. Well, technically that's my last name, but my first name is wretched so everybody but my mum and dad call me Tonks."

"What is it?" asked Bill, looking up from his Ancient Runes textbook.

Tonks wrinkled her nose. "Nymphadora. But if you call me that I'll hex you. My dad calls me Dora, which isn't awful, but I like Tonks."

"Tonks," said Charlie, rolling around the name in his mouth. "Huh. I'm Charlie Weasley, and this is my brother Bill. Are you a first year?"

"Yup!"

"Me too! Do you know what House you want to be in?"

She smiled. "Mum said each House has good qualities. She was a Slytherin, and my dad was a Hufflepuff." She shrugged. "I think I'll be happy most anywhere."

"Weasleys are always Gryffindors," said Bill, turning back to his book.

"Brave and bold, huh?" Tonks grinned at him, and Charlie smiled back sheepishly.

* * *

"Tonks, Nymphadora!"

The girls scowled briefly, but bounded up and sat on the stool and grinned at Charlie. The Sorting Hat barely reached her head before it shouted, "Hufflepuff!"

Charlie's eyes grew wide as he watched her hair change to a bright yellow as she made her way to the table of cheering badgers. He watched her as the next three first years were sorted.

"Weasley, Charlie!"

 _Ah, Mr. Weasley, you are a surprise. You certainly have that Gryffindor courage that your brother does, but I also sense a kind heart and a willingness to put others before yourself. And you're no stranger to hard work. You'd do quite well in Hufflepuff._

Put me in Gryffindor, Charlie pleaded. Every Weasley has been a Gryffindor.

 _If you're sure…_ "Gryffindor!"

Charlie sighed and grinned as his brother cheered loudly. He found Tonks, who waved at him and then turned back to her Housemates.

* * *

You can be brave, he told himself. You can be bold.

"Are you going to Hogsmeade on Saturday?" Charlie settled in his seat next to Tonks. Since that first day on the train years ago, he had shared a few classes with the Metamorphagus, and they had become fast friends.

"Yu-up." She popped her lips at the end of the word and grinned. "Tim asked me to go with him. We were in the Common Room studying, and he started getting all nervous and red in the face and when I asked him if he was OK he just kind of blurted it out. It was kinda sweet." She pulled out her homework. "You?"

"Oh, yeah. No, no date. I thought we could hang out, but if you've got a date…"

"Maybe we can all meet up at the Three Broomsticks?"

"Yeah. Maybe."

* * *

Charlie came into the kitchen. "Garden's de-gnomed, Mum." He pulled his arm across his chest, stretching it out in an effort to prevent soreness later.

"Thank you, Charlie. Bill and Percy are just knee deep in their summer assignments, and you know how they feel about working in the garden."

"I don't mind, honestly."

She patted him on the back. "You're such a good boy."

* * *

"An Auror?" he asked. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"Says the wizard going to work with bleeding _dragons_."

* * *

"Congratulations on the wedding, Tonks, Remus. Sorry I couldn't make it back for the nuptials."

She smiled and looked up at the werewolf. Her eyes sparkled.

She's happy, he thought. That's what matters. You've been in Romania and she's been here and of course someone realized how great she is. Be happy for her.

"Thank you, Charlie," said Remus. "Dora, can I get you some more water?" She nodded.

Charlie cocked an eyebrow. "Water? Your favorite part of Yule is eggnog."

She smiled and rubbed her stomach. "Can't."

His eyes went wide. "Oh wow. That's great Tonks. Congrats to you both!" He enveloped her in a hug. "You'll be a great mum."

He was happy for her. He really was.

* * *

 _"_ Hey Charlie, you almost done?"

The redhead looked up from the pile of dragon dung in front of him. The barrel was only about half-full.

"Yeah, give me 15 minutes to finish up and get these barrels over to the big house for transport."

Constantin nodded and leaned on the gate. "I thought you pulled hatchling duty this week. What are you doing on the shit shift?"

"Alex has a date and wanted to take a little extra time to clean up. Some guy from the Ministry that has been back and forth a couple times as a liaison. They hit it off last time he was here, and they're getting dinner tonight. I told him I'd finish up for him. You know how he gets after digging dragon dung."

Constantin laughed. "We all grow out of that eventually. We come here and think it's all riding dragons and cooing at babies and cool fire. No one puts shoveling shit in on the recruitment pamphlet."

"If you can't stand the heat, get out of the pen," Charlie dropped his last shovel-full in the barrel and wiped his brow with the back of his wrist. "Alex is good a good trainer. I can't begrudge him wanting a life outside of this place. And I don't mind the shit shift. A little hard work never hurt anyone."

"Well hop to. I'm a growing boy, and I'm starving!"

After dinner, Charlie stopped by the administrative building to pick up his mail. He settled into his tent and opened the letter from his mother.

 _Dear Charlie,_

 _You need to come home…_

He read and he cried.

He cried for his brother. He cried for the twin left behind.

He cried for his best friend, who had never known the true extent of his feelings.

Brave and bold, indeed.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: This series of one-shots were written for the Golden Snitch Jurassic Fever Challenge, on behalf of House Mizu (Mahoutokoro). Challenge prompts will be included at the top of each story._

 _Indominus Rex: Write about a character being forced to become what other people want them to be.  
_ _Egg Prompt: (word) hidden  
Points: 15_

* * *

Draco Malfoy sipped his firewhisky and looked at his screen. He couldn't believe this drivel.

 _'But I love you Hermione!'_

 _'I know Draco, and I love you. But we can't be together because this story really needs a half-assed conflict around which we can base our growing relationship.'_

 _'I don't care! If there's one thing the war taught me, it's that love conquers all!' He pulled her tiny but shapely body to his muscular chest and, like a knock-off Harlequin romance novel cover, kissed her deeply, grabbing her neck under her riotous curls and somehow managing not to snag a single hair…_

Draco couldn't believe this crap. Him and _Granger_? And what was this 'love conquers all' bullshit? That's not who he is!

He's Draco _bloody_ Malfoy. He has more Galleons than he knew what to do with, and a family name that strikes fear into the hearts of wizarding plebeians everywhere. He has a hot pure-blood wife, his heir with a spare on the way, and a half-blood mistress with a willingness to do almost anything in bed. He's a leader on the Wizengamot, a political and social force to be reckoned with. He doesn't even _look_ at mudbloods like Hermione Granger, even when the annoying bint was advocating some bleeding-hearted Gryffindor bill in chambers.

He didn't know who this person, this _fanfiction writer_ , thought he was, but some googly-eyed, love-sick puppy he was _not_.

He searched his name on the database. _Your search returned 110K results_.

He grinned. That's more like it. Someone in here surely wrote about the real Draco Malfoy: the cunning Slytherin who escaped Azkaban by playing on the public's pity, and who was currently doing more for the pure-blood agenda than his father ever had.

He scrolled the stories on the first page.

 _When bad boy Draco Malfoy runs into war heroine Hermione Granger, tensions run high—sexual tensions. Can this good girl tame the bad boy? Or will he bring out her dark side?_

I just threw up in my mouth, thought Draco.

 _Draco Malfoy spent the years after the war volunteering with orphans…_

Nope.

 _He's loved her for seven years_ …

Absolutely not.

He started skipping all the stories that had stupid Hermione Granger as a listed character. Dramione isn't even a word, he thought. It's even dumber than Brangelina.

And what is… Oh no. Absolutely not. No _bloody_ way.

 _Harry is about to discover the hidden depths of his childhood nemesis Draco Malfoy. But can their new love survive the release of Draco's father, Lucius, from Azkaban? DRARRY!_

Draco closed his laptop and stared blankly where it had been. His stomach turned, and he felt his nose and upper lip move into his trademark sneer almost instinctually. He wanted to throw his laptop at the wall, but he knew that wouldn't solve the problem. Stupid Muggles and their stupid Internet.

He left his glass in favor of drinking straight from the bottle of Blishen's. He'd take a sober-up potion before bed, and then tackle this problem in the morning.

He'd pull funding from Scarhead's Auror Department. He'd cut positions in the mudblood's department at DRCMC. He'd start a rumor that the Weasel was cheating on Granger with Scarhead.

He'd figure some evil and underhanded way to ruin their day.

After all, he was Draco _bloody_ Malfoy, not some bleeding heart. And he wouldn't let anyone forget it.

* * *

 _A/N: A bit of a meta jab at the stories we all love and love to write. (FWIW, I'm writing my own Dramione-ish fic right now, so I'm totally guilty!)_

 _JKR once told_ TIME _that there was no heart of gold under all Draco Malfoy's sneering. All of fanfiction promptly dismissed that. One of the things I love about fanfiction is taking the characters we've been given by great writers and then making them our own._


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: This series of one-shots were written for the Golden Snitch Jurassic Fever Challenge, on behalf of House Mizu (Mahoutokoro). Challenge prompts will be included at the top of each story.

 _Pachycephalosaurus: Write about a character getting a bump on the head OR waking from a concussion.  
Points: 10 _

* * *

"Son of a…"

"Watch where you're going!"

"Pay attention! Stupid bint."

Dora Tonks was used to people yelling at her. She knew she wasn't the most graceful of women. Her lack of poise was a consistent complaint of her mother, who had been raised in a lesser-known house of the British aristocracy. Andromeda had grown up with governesses and lessons in comportment and the ability to balance a book on her head while riding a bicycle.

Well, thought Dora as she made her way to her cousin Sirius's house, not that her mum would ever lower herself to ride a bicycle. _How plebian_.

From the time she could walk, Dora had been different from her mother. She wanted to run around outside and climb trees, not have stupid tea parties; she hated the dresses she had to wear to primary school, and would change into trousers as soon as she was home.

Perhaps the biggest difference between her and Andromeda was her inability to get through a day without injuring herself somehow. She was constantly bumping into people, tumbling over curbs—she couldn't make it through her cousin Sirius's house without tripping over the umbrella stand.

Rather than bemoaning these differences, she had embraced them. She knew she'd never be a lady like her mother, so instead she pursued her own interests. Despite her clumsiness, after graduation she joined the City of London Police force. Her trainer, an old man named Alastor Moody, was a mean grump, but after the injuries he sustained in the Falklands due to some green recruits he'd learned not to take it easy on anyone.

"He's recommended fast-tracking me into an investigative position," she told Sirius over tea one that afternoon. "I'll still have to put in my time on the streets, but when openings come up the big wigs will be paying close attention to how I do."

"That's great, Dora," said Sirius. "Have you told your mum?"

She shook her head. "She still thinks once I find a nice man that I'll quit and settle down to have a family."

Sirius barked a deep, loud laugh. "She's still trying to put you in dresses?"

Dora made a face. "You should see the get up she wants me to wear to Christmas dinner this year. It has _lace_ , Sirius. _Lace_."

He grinned at her. "You'll be just adorable. Speaking of, Harry is bringing his new girlfriend to dinner—did you ever meet the Weasleys?"

She shook her head.

"He's a higher up in the Home Office—he's been to a few government functions. Bright red hair. Anyway, Harry's new girl is their youngest, Ginny Weasley. The boys all go to Eton together, and she came around for family day. He's totally besotted with her."

Dora smiled. "So, have you been taking the mickey out of him?"

Sirius grinned impishly. "Every chance I can. I've already got mistletoe up everywhere in preparation for her visit. Oh, I also have an old school chum whose going to be staying with me a few weeks, so he'll be around for Christmas dinner too."

"Do I know him?"

"I don't think so. Remus Lupin? We went to Eton together, but he's been traveling for a few years, writing a book at wolves or some such. He's an academic, one of the quiet-types, so keep an eye on him at dinner—make sure he doesn't feel too out of place, yeah?"

After they finished their tea, Dora gathered her things and headed for the door. "I'll see you next week at Christmas. Tell Harry he better behave himself, or you're not the only one who will be..."

She never finished her sentence, though. The front door swung open and hit her right in the forehead. It knocked her back over the umbrella stand (which she had thus far managed to avoid on this trip) and out cold.

* * *

"Miss? Miss?"

Dora's head hurt something fierce. She squeezed her eyes to relieve the pain. "Damn, that wasn't even my fault this time," she muttered to herself.

When she finally looked up, she found the most beautiful pair of grey-green eyes staring back at her.

"Oh thank goodness. Are you OK? Are you in pain? Can I get you an aspirin? I am so sorry. Sirius said he didn't know if he'd be around and that I should just let myself in when I arrived. I can't apologize enough. How do you feel?"

She rubbed her forehead and sat up. She heard Sirius on the phone in the kitchen. "No, it sounds like she's up Andi. I'll make sure she gets it checked out. No, no reason to run over. Just wanted to let you know, yeah? I'll send her home."

The man in front of her looked worried. The brow above his gorgeous eyes was furrowed, and his light brown hair hung off to the side of his cocked head. He took hold of her chin with one hand and grazed her forehead with the other.

"That's going to leave a nasty bruise."

She smiled. "I've had worse. That umbrella stand and I have never gotten on."

He laughed. It was a soft chuckle, nothing like her cousin's boisterous guffaws. "Can you stand?"

She nodded. He stood up from his kneeling position and offered her his hand. He was almost a meter taller than her, but she could see a few scars on his cheek. "Remus Lupin. Friend of Sirius's and apparently a menace to the lovely women of London."

Dora reddened. No one called her lovely. Her mum was lovely. Her aunt Cissa was a vision, or so the society pages said. She was just clumsy Dora, who played too rough with boys and didn't have an appropriate vocation.

"Dora Tonks. Sirius is my cousin."

"Andromeda's kid? Wow, you make me feel old. I think Sirius and I were in our first year when you were born!"

"How do you feel, Dora? Your mum wants you to head to your GP and get checked out." Sirius handed her a glass of water and an aspirin.

"I'm fine. Or I'll be fine. It takes more than your umbrella stand to keep me down long."

"Quite the introduction to my family, Remus. I'd just roped in Dora here to keep you company at Christmas dinner. Now she may run for the hills!" He grinned at his friend and, taking the glass back from Dora, returned to the kitchen.

It was Remus's turn to blush. "I am sorry. How can I make it up to you?"

She looked at the rucksack next to the door, tattered from use. Everything about Remus seemed a little rough. He didn't come across as shabby, though. Rather, he seemed like someone who wasn't concerned with appearances. His trousers were well worn, his jacket a hair too loose on his frame.

He also didn't seem put off by her denim trousers or her leather jacket or the fact that she wasn't wearing any make up, though her mother insisted a woman could never attract a man without a little lipstick and mascara. This man had called her lovely, and smiled at her like she was Aunt Cissa all dolled up for a party.

She grinned at him. "You could take me out for a pint?" Her eyes shot upward, to where a bunch of mistletoe hung overhead.

Remus followed her gaze and grinned. "I could do that."


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: This series of one-shots were written for the Golden Snitch Jurassic Fever Challenge, on behalf of House Mizu (Mahoutokoro). Challenge prompts will be included at the top of each story._

 _Triceratops: Write about a character/s using their brawn to impress their crush.  
Points: 10_

* * *

"Herm-own-ninny?"

The girl looked up from her book, a frown on her face. Even that didn't mar her loveliness in Viktor's eyes. Not much could, actually.

It wasn't the mess of curls, lovely and wild. It wasn't the smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose. It certainly wasn't her loose robes, covering who-knows-what underneath.

No, it was the fact that she barely paid attention to him. Every other witch in the castle simpered over him. They bat their eyelashes at him. They giggled when they passed him in the halls or at meals. Those that got close enough would find any excuse to touch him, often quivering at their own forwardness. They cooed over his success in retrieving the dragon egg in the first task of the tournament. They just _knew_ he'd be the Tri-Wizard Champion, they told him.

This small wisp of a girl did none of those things. She hadn't spared him a glance since he'd arrived, even at breakfast early this morning when there were only a smattering of students in the Great Hall. He'd learned her name at the First Task. She was the only one of the champions' friends who had braved security to check on her friend before they faced the dragons. He'd been impressed with her audacity.

"Hermione."

He cocked his head. "Pardon?"

"My name is Hermione. Herm. I. Own. Ee." She looked up. "How can I help you, Mr. Krum?"

"You know who I am?"

"This school is Quidditch-mad. It would be impossible not to know who you are, even if I do find the sport uninteresting."

"You do not like Quidditch?"

She pursed her lips. "I don't like seeing my friends consistently injured because of some silly trick they tried to pull on a broom. I also am not a fan of sports with no discernible time limit. I've read some games last for days. That seems like a waste of time." She paused. "I'm sure you don't want to hear my opinions on this, Mr. Krum. After all, Quidditch is your livelihood."

"Please, call me Viktor. And I do vish to talk vith you," he explained.

She sighed, marked her page, and shut the book. "About?"

He smiled. "Perhaps not Quidditch."

She tentatively smiled back. "I'm afraid the library isn't very conducive to conversation, and I'm quite in the middle of something."

"May I help?"

She looked down at the cover of her book. "You might not want to. I'm researching the history of the tournament and its tasks. For Harry." She looked at him. "He is my best friend."

Viktor sat in the chair across from her. "He is lucky to have such a friend as you, Hermioninny."

"Hermione."

"Perhaps you would join me for a walk by the lake, vonce you have finished?" She frowned. He pressed his luck. "We can go see the ship for Durmstrang. It is very beautiful up close."

She looked thoughtful. "It was fascinating, watching the ship rise up from the lake. Do you know what kind of magic made it possible?" Her finger slid away from her place in the book, and he knew he had her.

"I do. Come. Ve vill see the ship and I vill explain it to you."

She looked at the mess of books on the desk. "I'll need to check these out and take them to my dorm. They'll be too heavy to carry around for very long."

Viktor smiled. "I vill carry them. Is not a problem."

"Oh no, there are too many," she protested as he gathered her books in his arms.

"I vould like to carry them for you. And the ship is beautiful in the morning. It vould be a shame to miss it. You have already checked them out?" She nodded, and he cast a shrinking charm on them so they would fit in her bag. "May I put them away?"

She opened her bag on the table and he laid them inside. She heaved the bag onto her shoulder, but he laughed and took it from her, easily throwing it over his shoulder. "I said I would carry it, Herminny."

"Hermione." He took her elbow and guided her out of the library. He was lucky it was still so early and very few students were around. Once in the hallways, he dropped her arm but stayed close.

She furrowed her brow. "Viktor, why did you want to talk with me?"

"Is unusual, to vant to talk vith a pretty vitch?" he asked.

"Well, no, but that doesn't explain why you wanted to speak with me." She looked confused.

"You are a very pretty vitch. I see you are a good friend to Potter. And you do not care about Quidditch. I think you are interesting, Hermy-ninny."

"Hermione."

He shrugged. "I think you vould be a good person to know."

The walked in silence to the lake, and Viktor explained the charms that enabled underwater travel. She asked him about school and Durmstrang, and he explained the classes he was taking and the process of their NEWT-equivalent.

"If I can be honest, I'm surprised you are taking so many classes," said Hermione. "I was under the impression…"

"I only know Quidditch?" She blushed and nodded. "Many people think this. And I love Quidditch. Flying is… vonderful. But is not everything."

She nodded. They continued to talk until the sun was directly overhead.

"May I escort you to lunch?"

She looked up. "Oh my. This morning has gotten away from me. I have so much to do…"

"But first, lunch?"

She nodded. "Here, let me…" She moved to take her bag, forgetting how many books she had fit in it. It did not budge of Viktor's arm.

"Is not a problem. I carry the bag to lunch for you, and then back to the library?" She smiled.

"Thank you, Viktor. That's very kind."

They walked up toward the school. He stopped before they reached the doors. She turned and looked at him.

"I haf enjoyed our morning together, Her-my-own-ee. May I continue to spend time vith you?" Perhaps if she said yes to this, he could convince her to be his date to the Yule Ball.

She smiled brightly at his pronunciation of her name. "I'd like that." She grinned and eyed the bag on his shoulder mischievously. "After all, you are quite useful to have around."


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: This series of one-shots were written for the Golden Snitch Jurassic Fever Challenge. Challenge prompts will be included at the top of each story._

 _Mosasaur: Write about a character/s having a collection.  
_ _Egg Prompt: (word) discover  
Points: 15_

* * *

"I've asked Hannah to marry me, and she said yes."

Neville Longbottom smiled at the dark-haired woman across from him as he held her hand.

"We're quite in love. She makes me so happy."

The woman smiled at him and hummed. She opened a drawer, rummaging for a particular item. When she pulled it out, she pressed it into Neville's palm.

"I know Mum. I love you too." He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. He glanced to her right, where his father was sitting, looking out the window. It had been a bad day for him—he was unresponsive to everyone but his wife—but Alice had been having a relatively good day.

"All finished, Mr. Longbottom?" asked the on-duty Mediwitch.

"Yes Doris, thank you." He signed out on the visitor's log. "I'll be back next week."

"Aye. Bring that pretty blonde girl with you. She always seems to cheer up your Mum."

Neville nodded. "I'll do that Doris. Have a good weekend."

"You too, sir."

When Neville got home, he kissed his grandmother on the cheek.

"How are they?" she asked.

"The same. You should come with Hannah and me next week."

Augusta Longbottom nodded. "It's been too long. It's just so hard to see them like that. Even after twenty years, I keep expecting Frank to look over and ask where your grandfather is."

He nodded and his fist tightened in his pocket, the item his mother had given him still safely tucked away. "We'll all go together. That will make it easier for you."

Once he was in his room, Neville went to his desk and opened the left drawer. He withdrew a few knick-knacks he kept inside, and then pulled up the false bottom. It was a Muggle solution for his need for secrecy, but Hermione had taught him that wizards often overlooked such measures. There, tucked away where no one would discover it, was a thin leather notebook.

He gently laid the notebook on his desk and traced the edges with his fingers.

Then he pulled the chewing gum wrapper his mother had given him from his pocket and smoothed it out next to the notebook.

He opened the first page. There were two wrappers laying flat, with large block letters next to each.

'30/7/1988 - My 8th birthday'

'25/12/1988 - Christmas'

He turned the page reverently. There were more birthdays and Christmases, but as the years went by the moments of significance became more personal.

'30/7/1991 - Received my Hogwarts letter'

'25/12/1994 - Pictures of Ginny and me at the Yule Ball'

'25/12/1995 - Meets Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny'

'10/6/1996 - Outstanding in Herbology'

'4/5/1998 - Battle of Hogwarts'

'25/4/2000 - Mastery of Herbology'

The moments of his life, as chronicled by his mother's chewing gum wrappers. Since he was little, he'd known her wrappers were more than the trash his grandmother claimed them to be. He'd long ago hidden his notebook from her, knowing if she found it she'd throw it out. She'd tell him he was imagining things and that such fixations were unhealthy.

His grandmother didn't understand how his mother communicated, but he did.

He took the new wrapper and smoothed it out once more. Using the most gentle sticking charm he knew, he affixed it beneath the most recent entry. In handwriting that had become much neater as the years had passed, he made a note next to it.

'14/2/2001 - Engaged to Hannah Abbott'


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: This series of one-shots were written for the Golden Snitch Jurassic Fever Challenge, on behalf of House Mizu (Mahoutokoro). Challenge prompts will be included at the top of each story._

 _I'm working on writing characters outside of my head canon. I really hate Greyback-probably because I have so much love for Remus Lupin-but if anyone is considered 'different' in the wizarding world, it's creatures. I can only imagine Greyback's contempt of Voldemort of both doing his dirty work AND being looked at as less-than._

 _Allosaurus: Write about a character who is considered 'different' but manages to come out on top.  
_ _Egg Prompt: (word) prehistoric  
Points: 15_

* * *

Beast, they called him.

Mongrel, they taunted.

Monster, they whispered.

He knew how everyone saw him: less than, beneath them. They didn't believe he deserved a wand, that he wasn't wizard enough to carry one; to them, he would always be a wolf before he was a wizard.

They were right of course. He had enough magic to be a wizard, though _he'd_ never been invited to Hogwarts. No, he was self-taught, the few curses that he knew. But Fenrir Greyback wasn't bitter—at least, not anymore. Being ostracized from traditional wizarding education had left him open to explore other magics.

And, it turned out, the magics he wanted to learn pre-dated wands. Deep magics, earth magics, moon magics. The magic of lunar transformation, the healing power of the Bite _,_ the soul-bond magic of a mate.

He knew, so much better than the wizards around him, that magic couldn't be controlled—that it was _wild_ , like him—and that the wands in their hands offered only the illusion power and safety. He knew that for all their book learning, all their wand waving, that they would never feel magic coursing through their veins the way he did.

Greyback bided his time through the war. He could smell which way the wind was blowing, so he let Voldemort believe the packs were in his pocket. When the Dark Lord finally managed to murder the stupid half-blood he'd been chasing for almost a decade, he had rewarded Greyback's loyalty with his choice of half-blood and mud blood prisoners.

And when Greyback smelled his mate in the throng of prisoners, it took everything he had to keep his cool. To play the good lap dog for his apparent master.

Voldemort had thought it funny to give Potter's mudblood to Greyback. "A beast for a beast," he'd laughed.

Years later, when Hermione stood over Voldemort's body, wand in her pocket and blood staining her hands, he would think back to that moment. His mate, _his beast_ , was the downfall of the oh-so-superior wizard who once looked down on them both.

Hermione had fought him, at first. He knew she would be difficult—she was an Alpha in her own right, and submission was not in her wheelhouse. But Greyback knew if she was his mate—and there was no question of that—that she would be a kindred soul. And eventually, the thrill of prehistoric magics she'd never even heard of brought her and her curious mind to him.

She had willingly taken the Bite three years after Harry Potter's death. And as a reward, Greyback promised to help her destroy the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters.

All it had taken was the old magics—a blood moon and a virgin sacrifice, offered over the cauldron of poison—to bind Voldemort's core. Once powerless, the former Dark Lord had quickly fallen to the ministrations of Hermione Granger, former Golden Girl, now mate to the Alpha of the packs—the packs they'd been growing slowly, quietly, to be a powerful force in the magical world.

Voldemort's death had been slow, painful, and particularly vicious.

In the final moments, his mate standing victoriously over the body of the man who had murdered her friend, terrorized the wizarding world, and looked down on her the same as he'd looked down on Greyback, Hermione had earned her place as mate to the Alpha of the packs.

She was a beast. A mongrel. A monster.

And she was glorious.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: This series of one-shots were written for the Golden Snitch Jurassic Fever Challenge, on behalf of Mahoutokoro (House Mizu). Challenge prompts will be included at the top of each story._

 _You probably won't like this. Like, at all._

 _Last one-shot I was all "I love Remus Lupin, so I'm going to write a sympathetic-ish Greyback," but when I was thinking about characters that_ could _become annoying, he was really high up there. I mean, we can all look past the whole werewolf thing, even after he almost ate our Golden Trio at the end of PoA, so why can't he? Silly werewolf._

 _Compsognathus: Write about a character who appears nice and interesting, but quickly becomes annoying/irritating.  
_ _Egg Prompt: (colour) fawn, (word) carnivorous  
Points: 20_

* * *

Professor Lupin was, by far, the best DADA instructor Hermione Granger had yet. She didn't care that he was a werewolf, though she was pretty sure only she and Professor Snape were aware of that fact. No, he taught interesting lessons that were both practical and full of theoretical knowledge.

He also cared for Harry, which went a long way in Hermione's book, and that concern seemed to extend to her and Ron.

It didn't hurt that he was rather good looking, all shaggy fawn hair and olive green eyes on a tall, thin frame.

Hermione was heartbroken when, at the end of her third year, Professor Lupin's lycanthropy was outed by Professor Snape and he was sacked.

XXX

Hermione was thrilled to find her favorite former professor at Grimmauld when she arrived the summer before her fifth year. They talked at length about Arithmancy and Ancient Runes; Hermione was excited to have someone who had the same love for knowledge she did. He had even invited her to address him informally, though it had taken her a few days to switch from Professor Lupin to Remus.

She noticed that no one at Grimmauld seemed to care about Remus's lycanthropy—well, no one except him. He always moped when the full moon was on its way, but Hermione couldn't begrudge him that dread; she had read that the transformations were exceedingly painful, and Remus had many scars from difficult moons. She was thankful for the Wolfsbane he was able to take now. At least his post-moon recovery wasn't as difficult anymore. It must have been awful for him.

XXX

Hermione didn't understand the Tonks and Remus situation. Tonks was great. She was funny and pretty and really quite smart, though she hid her intelligence behind her goofy demeanor. She also didn't care one fig that Remus was a werewolf.

But Remus, apparently, thought she should care. And if it wasn't about lycanthropy, it was about his lack of a job or the age difference between the two.

"I'm old enough to be your father!" he said in a hushed voice in the hall. Hermione, on the other side of the door frame in the library, leaned toward the voices. She wasn't above eavesdropping.

"Who were you impregnating at thirteen?" Tonks retorted. "Regardless of what you think, Remus, I'm an adult who is perfectly capable of making her own decisions." There was a pause, and the metamorphagus's voice took a pleading note. "Why won't you let me love you?"

"I'm not worthy of love," Remus brooded.

XXX

If Remus complained that Bill's scars or new carnivorous tendencies were his fault one more time, Hermione was going to burst. He _had_ to know it wasn't his fault. He hadn't even been near Greyback when Bill had been attacked; he'd been dueling Bellatrix, viciously trying to avenge Sirius's death.

But Remus carried so much latent guilt about his lycanthropy—and the fact that Greyback was still alive to infect others—that somehow every interaction with the evil Death Eater became a reflection on Remus's own failings.

She finished pouring a cup of tea in the kitchen, using every ounce of her self-restraint to not roll her eyes when Remus started in again.

"Molly, I'm so sorry…"

XXX

Tonks was a better woman than she was. It was never more clear than when Remus showed up at Grimmauld, ready to leave his apparently pregnant wife to hunt soul anchors with three teenagers. Hermione had to walk out of the room before she lost it on the werewolf; she left it to Harry to berate some sense into the old man.

Hermione guessed it came from a well-meaning place, but really? Walking out on your wife and unborn child?

What a git.

XXX

She was grateful that Remus and Tonks had survived the Final Battle; she couldn't imagine poor Teddy orphaned in infancy.

But she was studiously avoiding the older wizard, who was still bemoaning Lavender Brown and Colin Creevy, who had both been killed by Greyback before Remus had finally taken him down under a barrage of brutal spells.

It didn't matter that both Lavender had been incapacitated from a fall when Greyback pounced on her—the coward—or that Colin had held his own against the much older, much more experienced wolf for nearly half an hour before he'd failed to dodge an _Avada_. They'd both taken down their fair share of Death Eaters. They were heroes.

Goddammit, it wasn't about Remus Woe-Is-Me, I'm-a-Poor-Old-Werewolf Lupin.

She loved her former professor. He was a good man, at heart. She was so happy he had survived, and that his family would move on from the war relatively unscathed.

But honestly, he was often a hard man to like.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: This series of one-shots were written for the Golden Snitch Jurassic Fever Challenge, on behalf of House Mizu (Mahoutokoro). Challenge prompts will be included at the top of each story._

 _Man, I'm writing a lot of "you probably won't like this" stories. Because, for real, you probably won't like this._

 _I've been thinking for a while now: how are the Weasleys_ so _prolific, but all other pureblood families (at least in our FF world) are struggling to conceive and only have one or two children?_

 _The truth is, I kind of definitely can't let this concept thinking go, and I'm contemplating developing this idea into a longer, multi-chapter piece after I finish_ Pax Matrum. _Maybe._

 _Diplodocus: Write about a character who would do anything for their partner or crush.  
Points: 10_

* * *

The Weasleys were a Light family. Arthur had been raised in that tradition, and it was one he was proud of. His family may not have the history of the Blacks or the wealth of the Malfoys—not even the political clout of the Longbottoms—but they were as Light as they came.

It's one of the reasons he was able to woo Molly Prewett. Pretty Molly Prewett, all auburn hair bright brown eyes and curves for days. Sweet Molly Prewett, who helped the first years with their homework and always bought extra Honeydukes on Hogsmeade weekends.

"You never know when someone will have a bad day and need a pick me up," she explained.

During their seventh year, they would hold hands in front of the fire in the common room and share chaste kisses and future dreams.

They both dreamed of a big family.

But two years after they married—the July after graduation, why wait when you know what you want?—Molly still hadn't become pregnant.

It broke Arthur's heart every time she revealed her monthlies had arrived. She would cry herself to sleep on those nights as he held her in his arms.

"I'm so sorry," she would whisper. "I'm so, so sorry."

He would run his hands through her hair, kiss her gently, and remind his Molly-wobbles that it wasn't her fault. Sometimes these things happened.

When he asked her what she wanted for Christmas that year, she shrugged. "What I want magic doesn't see fit to give me."

Arthur's mother, who had Healer training, confirmed what they already knew in their hearts.

Molly Weasley would never bear children.

Things were dark at the Burrow that December, and Arthur took to staying late at his office in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. One evening, a few days before Christmas, his supervisor sent him out on a clean up mission.

"The Aurors are already on site. Someone dropped a cursed book off in a library near Godric's Hallow. It targeted the Muggles inside. There was a magical couple there: researchers studying combined magical and Muggle communities. They intercepted the book, but they didn't survive."

When Arthur arrived on site, the DMLE had quarantined the area, _Obliviated_ the Muggles, and corralled the book.

"What can I do?" Arthur asked a man who looked like he was in charge.

He gestured to another Auror, holding a small bundle.

"They had a kid. Only a few weeks old. The mother shielded him from the book. Take him to the Ministry, see if you can find the next of kin."

It turned out the researchers were perpetual nomads, and despite his best efforts, Arthur could not track down anyone responsible for the infant. No one who cared where this baby was, that he was safe, that he was loved.

It was a moment that changed Arthur's life forever, staring down at the dark haired baby boy, already crying for his next meal. In the moment, two distinct lifetimes flashed before his eyes.

He only needed that moment to make his choice.

Later, when he would hold out the bundle to Molly, he would tell her, "Magic has given us a gift, Molly-wobbles. It was a dark thing that happened, but we can bring light to this child's life."

And he thought that was that.

But the next day, Molly Weasley née Prewett sat her husband down and asked him to blood adopt the baby.

"That's _Dark_ magic, Molly," he said scathingly.

"It will make him ours," she contested. "There will be no question that he's a Weasley."

That Christmas Eve, Arthur's mother came and performed the blood adoption. As a Black, she was more amenable to the darker magical practices; as a Healer, she could claim she'd been supervising Molly's pregnancy; as Arthur's mother, she would do anything to see her son happy and the Weasley name live on.

Three small cuts and a dark ritual later, and Arthur and Molly were holding a red-headed, blue-eyed William Arthur Weasley.

Given Molly's reclusive nature over the previous months, no one but the three of them were the wiser.

And two years later, when Arthur's mother came to them with her cousin Marius's grandson, orphaned by an automobile accident, there was no question what they would do.

They would never know if it was the Weasley adoption that awoke Charles Septimus Weasley's magic, or if the latent magic from his squib grandfather would have manifested anyway.

The arrival of Percival Ignatius Weasley signaled the onset of war: an unexceptional Muggle-born couple with low-level jobs, murdered for no other reason than their blood status. But the Death Eaters hadn't yet taken to murdering children, so Percy had somehow ended up in the Weasley fold.

At this point, Arthur took to memory-charming the children. It was for the best; the Weasleys were a _Light_ family, and little mouths spouting off about blood adoption would bring that status into question, no matter how well-meaning his and Molly's intentions.

Two years later, while hiding out in an Order safe house, Molly's twin brothers would be murdered defending their wife, Marlene Prewett née McKinnon. Marlene, nine months pregnant with their boys, would Portkey to the Burrow, but ultimately succumb to her wounds.

Molly would name the boys after their fathers.

Ronald Bilius would come along two years later, another orphan of Muggle-born war casualties.

And despite their modest income and the threat of war just beyond the Burrow's threshold, Molly Weasley made a happy home for her family. And Molly would smile at Arthur, commenting how "our Weasley boys" were such a handful. And Arthur would smile back and watch her cluck about her children and think to himself, I would do anything for this woman. Anything to keep her just like this.

And though the Weasley boys all had the trademark red hair and Weasley hot-head, they were all so very different.

And Molly and Arthur were happy, with the family they built, until one night in the fall of 1981 Albus Dumbledore showed up on their doorstep, a tiny bundle in his hands.

And he told them of a hidden couple, hunted by the Dark Lord, and their their toddler son, and their newborn daughter. He explained that no one—not even their closest friends—knew the of the baby Lily Potter had born only a month before her death. And how Albus needed to hide Harry away, for fear of Death Eater retribution, but that the Potter girl deserved a good family.

And Albus twinkled his twinkle, and Arthur and Molly knew that he knew. He knew about the Darkness lurking in their Light family.

And the leader of the Light didn't care. In fact, he had brought them a daughter—a daughter they would adopt through a Dark blood ritual.

Though the small girl already had red enough hair to look like family—Ginevra Molly Weasley, the final Weasley baby.

Years later, after Harry Potter had been introduced to the Weasleys, befriended Ron, and defeated Voldemort _again_ , Molly would say a silent prayer that her daughter's hero worship would be a passing fad.

And when, at the first Battle of Hogwarts anniversary, Harry Potter showed up at a cookout for the Order holding hands with Draco Malfoy, Molly Weasley was the first to envelop the proud but terrified blond boy in a great big hug.

And Arthur smiled indulgently at his wife, knowing there would be yet another Weasley sweater for her to knit come Christmas.

After all, Harry, Hermione, and now Draco were proof that his wife never _really_ stopped adopting children.


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: This series of one-shots were written for the Golden Snitch Jurassic Fever Challenge, on behalf of House Mizu (Mahoutokoro). Challenge prompts will be included at the top of each story._

 _Gallimimus: Write about a group of students simply hanging out as friends.  
_ _Egg Prompt: (song) 'Dinosaur', (colour) gainsboro  
Points: 20_

* * *

"What fresh hell is this?" Pansy shrieked.

She'd just finished her last class of the day—Behavioral Psychology—and was looking forward to a fun night out with her girlfriends. It was Friday, and the whole gang had made plans to have a night on the town. Pansy was thrilled that her boyfriend, Draco, was willing to take a break from his pre-law classes. He'd been hitting the books hard in preparation for the LSAT, but everyone needed a chance to decompress.

She imagined the girls would have the apartment in a mess, trying on different outfits and already getting ready. Daphne's boyfriend, Theo, would be joining them, and he was bringing his friend, Blaise. They didn't know much about Blaise—Theo said he was a family friend who was visiting from Italy—but Tracey hadn't had a date in ages. Theo had indicated that Blaise was something of a ladies man, and Tracey had smiled.

"Lord knows with exams this year I'm not looking for a boyfriend. But I wouldn't say no to a good snog—or more!" She'd giggled with Millie, while Daphne and Pansy just rolled their eyes at each other.

But the apartment wasn't the mess she expected, and her roommates weren't running around getting ready. In fact, they were all laid out in the living room, staring at the TV.

Onscreen, a blond woman in a tiny brown outfit was dancing and singing with two women wearing dinosaur heads dancing behind her.

Her roommates didn't even look at her.

"What are you watching?" she demanded.

"Glee," said Millie, turning and smiling at her.

"The TV show about people who sing? Why?" Pansy looked aghast. She'd heard of this show. It sounded terrible.

"Because it's fun!" said Millie.

"It's like a train wreck," added Tracey, staring at the screen.

"It's so bad it's good," finished Daphne.

"That doesn't even make sense," said Pansy. "I though we were going out tonight."

"We are, we are, just let us finish this episode," said Daphne. "We've got a couple hours before dinner, anyway."

Pansy watched for a minute. "Why is she spelling dinosaur?"

"Because it's prom," said Millie.

Pansy didn't point out that wasn't really an answer to her question.

* * *

"Hello?" called Draco.

He, Theo, and Blaise were a little late to pick up the girls, but they still had plenty of time to make their dinner reservations. Normally he could get a table at their favorite sushi spot no problem, but a group of six on a Friday night would be pushing it. They'd planned on doing after-dinner drinks at a little bar around the way and then heading out to a club for dancing.

The boys walked into the living room and found for girls, clearly still in their day clothes, crying and sniffling.

"What happened?" asked Theo, looking at Daphne.

"They… she… he…" She stumbled over her words, sniffling the whole time.

"But they were perfect!" wailed Tracey. "I just can't…"

Draco noticed the melancholy music—Coldplay's _The Scientist_ , though it wasn't Chris Martin singing—and looked at the TV.

"Are you… are you crying because of the show?"

The girls all nodded.

"Oh thank Christ," exhaled Theo. "I thought someone died."

Daphne threw a pillow at him. " _Something_ died. Their relationship. Finn and Rachel…"

The girls wailed.

Then, the TV clicked off.

They all turned their heads. Blaise had the remote pointed at the TV. He set it down on the kitchen counter—out of reach of all the girls. He looked at Theo.

"I didn't come to visit to sit around and watch shitty TV. Either we go to dinner, or I'm heading out on the town by myself."

Tracey took a long look at the new face. He had dark skin, darker eyes, and close cut black hair. He was tall—almost as tall as Theo—and lean. She could tell his clothes were nice: slim cut black slacks, a white v-neck t-shirt and a gainsboro sports coat, left open. He looked like sex on a stick.

She jumped up and wiped her eyes. "We're going! Give us fifteen minutes!" She hauled Daphne out of her seat, and on her way to her room grabbed Pansy.

"Not a minute more, or we'll miss our reservation," called Draco after them. He turned to Millie. "You didn't want to come?"

She shook her head. "Since Greg's visiting his family this weekend, I thought I'd catch up on studying." She looked at Blaise. "I'm working on getting into vet school. I'm Millie."

"A pleasure," he responded. "I'm Blaise."

She pulled up her knees to her chest and snuggled under her blanket. "Nice to meet you." She looked back at Draco. "I'm going to order Chinese and spend the night marathoning this show. Then I'm at the library all day tomorrow while you lot recover from your hangovers."

The four talked for a bit, until the three girls emerged from down the hall, looking much more ready for a night on the town than earlier. Tracey was pleased with how quickly she could get ready in a pinch, and she smiled at the boys. "All ready!"

Draco came forward and kissed Pansy on the cheek, and Theo did the same for Daphne. Blaise stepped forward and offered Tracey his arm. "Looks like you're my date for the evening."

"I'm sure you'll suffer through somehow. Tracey." She offered the man a wicked grin.

"Blaise," he responded. "And it's certainly not suffering to spend time with a beautiful woman."

Tracey blushed, Pansy smirked, Theo rolled his eyes, and Millie called out halfhearted goodbyes and she hit "Next" on her Netflix queue.


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: This series of one-shots were written for the Golden Snitch Jurassic Fever Challenge, on behalf of House Mizu (Mahoutokoro). Challenge prompts will be included at the top of each story._

 _Brachiosaurus: Write about a character unable to control a common ailment, such as sneezes or coughs.  
_ _Egg Prompt: (word) adventure  
Points: 15_

* * *

It'll be an adventure, he had said. What's the worst that could happen, he had asked.

Draco crossed his arms and huffed, his chest wheezing from the cold he'd contracted on their adventure.

This, Draco thought. This is definitely one of the worst things that could happen.

He'd never felt this bad before in his entire life. Excepting that whole getting-the-Dark-Mark bit, and the _Sectumsempra_ Potter had lobbed at him Sixth Year.

But really, not counting those, this ranked really high up there on the Most Miserable Moment of Draco Malfoy's Life.

He pulled the covers up to his chest, burrowing in their folds due to the chill he felt. Of course, he was simultaneously sweating buckets from his fever, so he wasn't sure that it was the best course of action, but it was currently making him feel better so he wasn't going to over-think it.

He wouldn't lie—the football match _had_ been fun. Potter would never convince him that it was as good a sport as Quidditch—how could it be, without brooms?—and it was a little boring, what with only one ball to follow, but he had appreciated the athleticism of the players and the skill involved in the sport.

Leave it to Muggles to invent a sport that didn't use your hands.

But the weather had been colder than expected, and Potter wouldn't let him use warming charms because the Muggles would notice. And then bloke next to Draco kept coughing, the hack so deep Draco wondered if part of the man's lungs weren't trying to escape his chest.

Three days later, Draco had the same miserable-sounding hack. And a wicked fever.

It was now six days after the match, and his hack had moderated into a constant cough, though he still felt like he'd been bowled over by that troll from First Year. His fever was probably breaking—he had the symptoms that Granger told him when he Floo-ed her the day before.

"I'm dying from a Muggle disease," he told her over the Floo. "Granger, you have to save me!"

A short examination later, and she looked at him and smiled. "You have the flu, Draco."

"What do you mean, I have a Floo? Of course I have a Floo, how do you think your bushy hair got here?"

She rolled her eyes. "Not _a_ Floo, the flu. It's a Muggle ailment. You'll probably be out of commission a few days, but it's nothing that rest, fluids, and a lot of tissue won't cure."

He had to admit, he _was_ starting to feel better, but he would never tell her that at his worst he'd resorted to her Muggle tactics.

Who gurgled saltwater? Disgusting.

But effective.

Potter opened the bedroom door, cup of tea in-hand. "Hey," he said quietly. "How do you feel?"

Draco coughed into his shoulder. "Like hell. So, moderately better."

The dark haired wizard set the cup of tea on the nightstand. "Hot toddie. Hermione swears by them. Tea, lemon, honey, and a dash of Muggle whiskey."

Draco eyed the cup. "I don't know that I can take too many more Muggle adventures."

Potter rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well there are no wizarding cures for the flu, so it's Hermoine's family hot toddie recipe or being miserable until it works its way through your system naturally."

Draco scowled but took the cup. After a sip, he paused. "That's actually quite good." He glared at his boyfriend. "Don't tell Granger I said that."

Potter nodded and smiled. "I'll stay in the guest room again tonight, and we'll see how you feel tomorrow."

Draco had missed sharing the bed, but he also knew he was in no mood to do anything but sleep, and getting Potter ill would just prolong their separation. "Fine."

"And I'll make it up to you. Next adventure we take, your pick. I'm game for whatever."

Draco nodded but showed no external reaction. Inside, he was grinning from ear to ear. A weekend shopping in Paris's magical district it was.

He barely set down the cup in time to let loose a string of violent coughs, waving at Potter as the wizard backed slowly away from the bed and out the bedroom door.

Yes, a marathon shopping trip for the retail-phobic Potter was just what he needed.

Just as soon as he kicked this damn flu.


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: This series of one-shots were written for the Golden Snitch Jurassic Fever Challenge, on behalf of House Mizu (Mahoutokoro). Challenge prompts will be included at the top of each story._

 _Velociraptor: Write about a group of Slytherins going about their everyday school lives.  
_ _Egg Prompt: (word) footprint; (setting) The Forbidden Forest; (dialogue) "If that is from a baby, I don't want to know how big the mother is."  
Points: 25_

* * *

Care of Magical Creatures was her favorite class, but Merlin above and Circe below did her classmates drive her batty. If it wasn't Tracey going on (and on, and on) about unicorns, it was Vince and Greg playing Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb to Draco.

Pansy loved her boyfriend, but there were days when even _he_ irked her.

Today was one of those days. They were studying thestrals—Pansy found the concept of the creatures both fascinating and horrifying—and Draco would not shut up about Umbridge.

"Even _she_ can see how worthless this unit is, and she's only been here a few weeks! This worthless oaf isn't even a real Professor…"

Pansy shook her head. She agreed with Draco, on principle, but Hagrid did seem to know a lot about the herd of thestrals at Hogwarts, and since this was the only domesticated herd in Britain it wasn't like she'd get another chance to study them.

And she was still innocent enough that they existed, visually, only in her imagination.

Pansy had been riding Aethenons her whole life; riding was one of those society-approved hobbies that pure-blood wives could take up, and Pansy liked that horse riding got her around her mother's "no broomsticks!" ban on flying. Draco had a pair of Abraxans he'd taken her out on before, during the standard summer-visit-to-your-betrothed's-family.

But thestrals were different. They were wild and dark and not lady-like at all—she felt drawn to them in ways she couldn't explain, ways her mother and Draco would think odd.

Thestrals weren't an appropriate interest for pureblood princess Pansy Parkinson.

So she'd pay attention to this lesson as best she could, sate her curiosity and maybe, _just maybe_ , she'd get to touch one of the invisible creatures.

So she blocked out Draco's whining and Tracey's high pitched voice, still waxing about the unicorn unit from Fourth Year, as they trudged through the Forbidden Forest near where the herd grazed.

"We're gettin' near now," said Hagrid. "Everyone be quiet. We don' wanna spook 'em."

From behind she heard a giggle—Tracey, doubtlessly— and rolled her eyes. Then she heard a _squish_ , followed by a high-pitched squeal.

"EW!"

She turned to see Tracey lifting her foot out of a pile of manure, at dainty heeled footprint left in her wake.

Pansy grimaced, but Hagrid was undeterred. "Good job, Miss Davis. Fresh droppin's let us know the herd's near. Those of ya who can't see the thestrals will wanna pay close attention to droppin's and the like fer trackin'."

He looked at the pile of manure. "Tha's from one of the babies, I reckon. So be careful. Ain't nothin' worse than a thestral mum defending her foal." He paused. "'cept maybe a dragon. Or a chimera. Or… well, ya get the idea."

Hagrid walked on, oblivious to the disgusted Slytherins he left in his wake.

"Ew, ew, ew!" whined Tracey, staring at her feces-covered foot, still hovering over the steaming, now-smushed pile.

"Merlin, Davis, do something about that smell," sneered Draco, waiving his hand in front of his face and turning away from the girl.

"Cor, if that's from a baby, I don't want to know how big the mother is," Millie whispered to Greg. "I thought thestrals were winged horses, not giants."

Pansy sighed. "They are, Millie." She flashed her wand toward Tracey, vanishing the offending material. Tracey muttered her thanks and continued to spell her foot with a series of _Scourgifys_ and _Tergeos_. "But they're even bigger than the Abraxans that Beaxbatons brought to the tournament last year, and they're typically more aggressive and territorial than domesticated breeds, like Granians. Didn't you do any of the reading?"

Millie bristled at her friend's chastisement. "Why? It's not like the half-giant is going to be around much longer. I thought about skipping class until we get a real teacher, but you lot were coming so I decided against it."

And this, Pansy thought, is why I had no competition for prefect this year. "And when we do get a real instructor, you'll still have to learn about thestrals. They're on the Magical Creatures OWL, Millie." She broke off from the group and made her way to the throng of students near Hagrid, grateful for a legitimate excuse to get close to today's creature. "And I, for one, would like to pass my OWLs."

As she broke through the small throng of students, she saw Harry Potter petting what looked like the air. His eyes were as big as saucers, and the rest of the class, including Hagrid, was focused on him.

She felt someone come up behind her.

"I can see them, you know."

"Really?" asked Pansy.

Theo nodded. "My mum died, when I was little. I was in the room when she passed."

She paused. "What do they look like?"

"They're beautiful, in a way. They look like they'd take your head off if you so much as look at them wrong, but there's a beauty in their severity. And you can see they're letting Potter get close, so they can be friendly when they want."

Pansy scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Of course they are. If he's not riding a hippogriff, he's petting a thestral."

Theo didn't bite. "They're horrific and terrifying, but there's something special about being one of the few that can see them."

Pansy glanced at the tall boy and then back at the space in front of Potter.

Hidden, horrific, terrifying, but gentle when they want to be, letting only a select few see the real them?

Yeah, Pansy got that.


End file.
